Tryst
by myredrazzlevest
Summary: The criminal loves to be dominated, and the student obliges.


Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

A/N: I know this is a seriously random pairing, but I seem to be obsessed with Montparnasse at the moment, and this just happened to pop into my head.

* * *

The dandy held the most wicked secret deep within the gritty concaves of his chest. He could murder men with a straight face, but whenever his secret demanded to be sated, he would turn the loveliest scarlet. Then he would successfully keep his gaze hardened, his mouth tied up in a thin line; the most questionably determined of looks. His secret could never be tamed and often took hold of him suddenly, like two great hands grasping his sides, squeezing.

He could never reveal something so twisted to the Patron-Minette, for they would surely flog or disown his sorry skin.

For poor Montparnasse relished to be dominated. Not in the usual, acceptable, way in which men might allow their mistresses freedom – surely if it was just that, he would simply be quickly made fun of and shrugged off. But no, he had discovered a very loose, almost old, and degrading fancy like a whore. Except he thought perhaps not even whores would have his kind of sickly preference.

Montparnasse found excitement in being dominated by other men.

The secret had become a fixation, a task that he needed fulfilled so he could continue with his womanizing, stealing, and murdering. If he could not find release, he would plummet into a distracted and disturbed sea of uneasy emotions. He was as hooked as an opium addict. The only problem was – he would never die from his addiction or somehow be weaned from it. At least at the moment it didn't appear so. Had he somehow stumbled across the strange liking or had he always been ingrained with it? Montparnasse couldn't tell. All he knew was he found provocation in domination.

But if he were so forbidden from such activities, why had he found someone who could draw excitement from dominating others?

There was no relationship between them, no emotion, no kindling of any sort of sentimentality. They were just two humans brought together by an urge. In broad daylight, they would have detested one another; social standings would make them hateful. But at night, when barriers were moved to the shadows and their social premonitions anchored in the recesses of their minds, they found satisfaction.

Tonight the need had been obvious, with the one who controlled catching the one who obeyed in a back alley – a predetermined coincidence. The bourgeoisie had shoved the criminal up against an uneven wall, the stone biting into his back. Montparnasse was the stronger, even though he often hastily submitted the other, his arousal piqued.

"Why're you out so late? I never see you around here at this hour," the student remarked, a twinge of brandy on his breath to make for a heady scent.

Montparnasse lolled his head to the side; the perfect little actor. "Couldn't sleep." Even his words were soft and sweet sounding, although he still spoke in concise fragments – an odd but fitting trait for a young man as precious as himself. He had actually had the sudden need flood him that afternoon and had fixed their meeting.

The student chuckled. "Excellent, as I'm requiring someone in my bed tonight." He ran his hand through the other's silkily thick mane.

Montparnasse leaned into his touch, a familiar wash of warmth growing in the pit of his stomach. He smirked, eyes heavy with carnality. "Lead the way, mon amour."

Courfeyrac released the criminal roughly with a slap, before he started to walk away. Montparnasse followed like a dog. Both knew that in truth, if either dared to use such affectionate terms in a regular context, they would be at one another's throats. But in the obscurity of night and the carefully guarded depths of their consciences, such words were exciting simply because they were wrong. The criminal stayed quite a way behind the student, should anyone see the two unfit acquaintances and question their motives. Especially when they returned to Courfeyrac's apartment.

A dangerous place for their trysts, seeing as Marius was often home. Montparnasse had no idea what the situation was which accounted for their living arrangement. He didn't even know the boy's name, just that his presence put a damper on their entertainment. Marius had some idea of who Montparnasse could be, despite his assumptions being entirely inaccurate. He often woke in the middle of the night to an onslaught of curious sounds, and always denounced the noise as the effect of Courfeyrac having picked up a woman from the café. Marius would then throw his pillow over his head and slip back into unconsciousness.

Courfeyrac opened the apartment door just a sliver, drowsily peering in. He whispered to Montparnasse, who was waiting behind him, "Damn, the little translator's home and wide awake. I'll go distract him – I mean, see how he's doing – you know what you've to do." He eyed the rogue hungrily. "And I'll deal with you later."

He pushed the front door open and made a frustrated tangent for Marius's bedroom. Montparnasse made to sneakily slip into the student's own bedroom, in a manner which he was most accustomed to from experience out on the street. Courfeyrac paused mid-step to glance over at his companion for the night – he was often amazed by the stealth and agility with which the young man moved – it made him all the more desirable that instant. Montparnasse disappeared into his room and Courfeyrac was left standing awkwardly.

He sighed, composing himself before entering Marius's quarters.

Marius glanced up from his task, eyes rimmed with red, and the need for sleep. He was surprisingly pleasant – maybe the lack of rest was making him mellow. "Oh, good evening Courfeyrac – you're home late," he remarked happily, going back to his work.

Courfeyrac hovered next to his desk, already loosening his cravat. "Yes. The meeting ran a little later than expected. Aren't you tired, mon ami? You look like a ghost."

Marius yawned, shaking his head. "Quite. But I've got so much to finish."

"I see," Courfeyrac added hurriedly. "Well perhaps you can finish tomorrow?" He trailed off, mind wandering to the situation in his own room. The boy just had to pick tonight to be productive. At least when he was asleep, he was less likely to hear them. Unless he could somehow convince Marius to join – no, Courfeyrac highly doubted Marius to share his preferences. He shook his head at his thoughts, unaware of what he was doing.

Marius said something he didn't hear.

"Well, I'm going to retire. God knows what kind of headache I'll have tomorrow," Courfeyrac mumbled as he hobbled off, the brandy making itself suddenly evident. Had he really just thought Marius to be like himself?

Marius again said something he couldn't discern.

By the time he reached his own room, Courfeyrac was feeling particularly fierce. He pushed his door closed with a single shove and leaned against it arrogantly. Only a skinny ray of light stabbed through a gap in the curtains, creating an eerily dramatic effect. His eyes searched the room, although he could hardly distinguish shapes.

"Mon amour," he called darkly, "you know I don't like games."

Montparnasse crept to his side. "Do you really want to say that?" he purred, beginning to place dainty kisses along the student's jaw and neck.

Courfeyrac grinned to himself; he loved it when the meager tramp attempted to run the show. He allowed Montparnasse a few more kisses before the student grasped his waist harshly and pulled the rogue against him tightly. Montparnasse gave a slight whimper at his possessiveness, his hands pressing against Courfeyrac's chest in an attempt to break from his grasp. The student found this amusing, and wrapped his arm around Montparnasse's waist while resting the other against his back. The criminal tensed at the closeness, all the while enjoying the pressure between them. Courfeyrac started to caress the back of his neck, making Montparnasse scrunch his shoulders timidly.

The student took advantage of this surprise to assault his mouth. Courfeyrac barely gave Montparnasse time to breathe, the hand on the back of his neck suddenly becoming a vice. He was demanding and nipped at Montparnasse's succulent lower lip until he achieved access. Courfeyrac toyed with the other's hot tongue, exploring the concave of his mouth; the pressure on his chest lessening as Montparnasse relaxed against him. The student was shocked and quite disappointed – why was his amusement giving up so easily tonight? He loosened his own grip, testing.

Montparnasse aggressively struggled out of his embrace as soon as Courfeyrac did so. They both smirked through the darkness, unmoving. The rogue wasn't going to give in so easily, and the other felt foolish for thinking he ever would. Courfeyrac ended the stillness, reaching out to snatch Montparnasse's wrist. The criminal struggled again, unable to shake the student off. Courfeyrac began to yank him toward the bed, his fingernails digging into the other's flesh. He haphazardly pushed Montparnasse onto the bed, one of his knees pressing into the sheet beside him. The student had started to hurriedly work at his belt buckle.

"What's this?" Courfeyrac teased, bumping the other with his knee. "What's with you?"

Montparnasse rolled over onto his back, placing his hands behind his head casually. "Haven't been very entertaining yourself," he challenged, closing his eyes with a bored sigh.

Courfeyrac gave a low growl, crawling over Montparnasse. He placed his hands on either side of the rogue's head and glared down at his complacent expression. "You've too many clothes on," he remarked sharply.

Montparnasse opened one eye lazily.

A knock at the door made both of them hiss, irritated.

Courfeyrac stalked over, barely opening it. "Yes Marius?" He said almost sadly.

Marius was clutching a beat up dictionary and the transcript he was currently working on. He shoved both of them at his friend, pointing at a word in the middle of the page. "How would you interpret this?"

Courfeyrac cleared his throat, squinting at the page. He was forced to open his bedroom door wider in order to read the impossibly miniscule print. He was also forced to awkwardly turn to the side in a lame attempt to hide his tented trousers. "Um, what've you got so far?"

Marius looked up at him, blinking dramatically in realization. "Courfeyrac…"

The other student glanced up.

"Did you bring someone home _again_?"

Courfeyrac smirked.

Marius shut the dictionary, shoving all his work under his arm. "Well _sorry_," he snapped and walked off in a dramatic and prissy fashion.

Slightly embarrassed, but realizing that there was not much more to be embarrassed about, Courfeyrac called after the boy, "Wait Marius – come back!" He started to laugh, "Don't be like that, there's room for you too!"

Marius turned around, shocked and offended. His face was sullen, serious. He shut his eyes, eyebrows furrowing as he replied in an angered tone, "No, thank you, Courfeyrac. And please, don't ever say that again."

The other student booed him, and what may have come off as distasteful to Marius was actually just a ploy to get him to go away and stay away. Although, Courfeyrac had somewhat hoped that perhaps his friend would have been inclined to join his little rendezvous. "Goodnight," he added teasingly as Marius slammed his bedroom door.

Courfeyrac closed his own bedroom door quietly. He leaned his forehead against the wood, smiling to himself. He inhaled resolutely, before straightening his shoulders and turning around, composed. Being doused by light from the hallway, his eyes had a difficult time adjusting to his darkened room. Courfeyrac watched as little random veins of light fluttered across his line of vision, the aftermath of the hallway. The student somehow managed to stalk back to his bed, and discover Montparnasse in the same position, all other articles save his trousers disregarded.

Courfeyrac scoffed, amused. He pounced onto the bed like a cat, resting back on his calves at the criminal's feet. Montparnasse gave an indifferent sigh, his attention focused on anything but the student. Courfeyrac might have mumbled something then – he couldn't remember – as his hand trailed up the other's leg. He grinned devilishly when he was finally able to catch Montparnasse's attention by settling roughly between his thighs. The student's hand continued upward, until it stopped at the rogue's milky hip. At that moment, Courfeyrac kissed Montparnasse, almost appreciatively, for he could never get over just how exceptionally strange his hips were. They were so feminine that the student often forgot who he was with whenever his hands gripped onto them for purchase.

Montparnasse greedily accepted the kiss, and Courfeyrac pulled away quickly, realizing how much he was wanted. The criminal gave a soft moan at the loss of contact, and the student could almost feel his impatience as he hurriedly and haphazardly removed his clothes. Courfeyrac gave a little shiver – from excitement or cold, he wasn't sure – but then promptly made haste to Montparnasse's trousers.

The student was hasty and jarring when he yanked the rogue to his knees. Slightly dizzy and blinded by the darkness, Montparnasse could only assume he was near the foot of the bed. He had been shoved forward, with his hands open and pressing into the bedspread beneath him. The criminal had been focused on the two pale appendages, until his eyes fluttered closed at Courfeyrac's knee parting his legs. An animalistic groan escaped Montparnasse's parted lips when the student gripped his hair and pulled his head back mercilessly.

"Look at you," Courfeyrac snapped, "just like a wanton whore."

"And look at you, laying with another man," Montparnasse challenged unabashedly.

The student gripped his hair tighter, his fingernails digging into the other's scalp. "Watch your mouth," he growled, "lest I should gag you." Courfeyrac released Montparnasse then, with a quick shove, and the criminal's head dropped to his chest as if he had no neck at all.

Courfeyrac seemed to envelope him then, as his chest pressed against the rogue's back. Montparnasse could hardly breathe with the other being both taller and heavier than he, and with the other suddenly upon him. He began to unconsciously whimper at the suffocating closeness, Courfeyrac's arms near his shoulders and squeezing him like a cage. But Montparnasse could hardly hear himself, what with the student growling disgustingly dirty words of adoration in his ear. The criminal felt his face warm at the attention, and was only slightly relieved when Courfeyrac went on to nip and kiss his neck.

Montparnasse barely had time for a toothy hiss when the student suddenly thrust into him.

The rogue found himself moving away from Courfeyrac, who would inch up behind him, until he was clutching Montparnasse's hip, holding him in place, irritated and amused. Montparnasse made a protest – an almost inaudible cry, especially reserved for Courfeyrac – but neither took notice. Entirely unprepared, the pinned one was grateful for the other's stillness. As if Courfeyrac understood Montparnasse's thoughts, he started on a harsh, lascivious pace. The criminal was silent, seeming to take each thrust with a painful determination. Needing more of a reaction, Courfeyrac's hand left Montparnasse's hip to grasp and stroke him roughly.

Montparnasse groaned into his arm, before collapsing onto his elbows, face pressed into his hands. He relished the feeling and at the same time wished to suffocate himself rather than face such embarrassment. The sound of Courfeyrac's labored breathing diverted his attention. But this was just what brought the rogue to the student every time – Montparnasse both loathed and adored the humiliation only the other could provide.

Courfeyrac had expertly matched his strokes to his thrusts; Montparnasse could feel a familiar building of sensation deep within his belly. The student was good, but never seemed to hit that one lovely little spot, and soon Montparnasse was bucking back. As with all their meetings, both came with guttural moans, the subjective always finishing before the dominant. Courfeyrac made it a goal to always be rewarded with his name being richly uttered from the criminal's lips. Montparnasse never knew of course, and even if he did, nothing would stop him as he was overwhelmed with wave after wave of pleasure.

The student would sometimes grant the other a few quick, sloppy kisses on the shoulder or neck as he did now. Then Courfeyrac would dejectedly pull away from Montparnasse, and neither would say a word. Once their tirade was over, there was nothing left between the two of them – they had come together, they had played, they were done. Courfeyrac slipped into sleep easily, never realizing the aftermath that Montparnasse was left with. The rogue snaked his way off the bed, and upon locating his clothes in the tangled mess on the floor, dressed himself agonizingly slowly. Never looking over at the student in a moment of weakness, he would leave the apartment just as quietly as he had come.

Staying the night, or even lolling around wasn't appropriate. It would display attachment – feelings, and call for an end to their meetings. The subject had never been discussed, only simply and subconsciously agreed upon.

Once outside, Montparnasse would shake off the last few hours, like a dog with a wet coat. He would be slightly more bristled than before, but no one would come upon him at such a late hour. By the next night, the criminal would be the same charming dandy as before, and might even have yet another woman occupying his bed. But at the moment, all Montparnasse was left with was a horrible stiffness and a desperate, exhausted need to prowl home. He started off with that peculiar expression of his: cheeks flushed the most becoming shade of pink, while his mouth remained in a set smirk.


End file.
